Midnight Compulsion
by Zchocolatebunniesrulezworld
Summary: Light cannot control himself; can't stop the monster rearing its ugly head inside of him...his hands move of their own accord to clench around the detective's throat.


**This was originally going to be a sugary yaoi covered in whipped cream and topped with a cherry...about a year ago, that is. I found it on my computer and decided to have a bit more fun with it ;)**

**_o~o_  
**

It was late.

Peeking through the 13th-story window, Light saw inky blackness pervading even their well-lit city. Though the streets were still crawling with people, there was a seedier aspect when he couldn't see too well. Darkness had always frightened him. Anything could happen when you weren't in control.

In the Task Force headquarters, however, the night was kept at bay. Fluorescent light from the computers bathed the room in which they worked. A steady _clack-clack-clack_ing resonated from the detective's fingers to his left, accompanied with _clinks_ from the chain hanging limply between the two men.

Though Light was abnormally tired, he felt like sleeping would let something loose inside of him—something purely evil, that would rear its horrible head and consume him. He was almost relieved to have to stay awake, being chained to an insomniac detective.

Speaking of, said insomniac detective's hands had ceased typing on the multiple computers surrounding them. What was wrong? Were Light's actions somehow reminiscent of Kira's? Was he under even more suspicion now for some unfathomable reason?

"Ryuzaki?" Light whispered (though there was no need to whisper, the crushing quiet of their building at night seemed to have affected his voice as well), turning to face his partner. "Is something?—oh."

L, still in his odd sitting position, had finally succumbed to sleep.

This was the first time in two months of constant proximity that Light had seen his friend _sleeping_. He looked...Light wished he could say peaceful, but even in sleep L's eyes flitted back and forth and a small scowl crossed his face.

What kind of nightmares would the three greatest detectives in the world endure, Light wondered. It was no wonder L barely slept. The things he must have seen...things far more terrible than an idealistic self-proclaimed god...Light suddenly felt very naive.

Still, there was something fascinating about seeing L, so perpetually active, fast asleep. Light couldn't help inching closer—Matsuda was right, L even slept in that weird position of his.

Up close, L seemed ethereal. Pale skin contrasted with wild black hair, reminiscent of his contrary personality. Light's eyes widened as he tried not to blink—he didn't want to miss a moment of this.

For a while, his mind wandered to the thought that this seemed like a scene out of one of Sayu's manga series, and that the audience would expect him to somehow fall in love with the sleeping L. (Of course, that possibility was so nonexistent that even L would generously rate it at .0001% His sleep-deprived brain went on very odd, very scary tangents sometimes.)

Suddenly, a compulsion gripped him. Not the cutesy kind that resulted in squeals from Sayu's room as she sat reading, no.

Without warning, Light was seized by a seemingly unstoppable desire to grip L's throat and choke every last bit of life out of the man. Imagining the detective's dying spasms caused Light to shiver in pleasure. He'd do anything to stop those eyes from opening ever again.

Unbidden, his hands rose in a half-gesture towards the sleeping man. _Just a little more...we're so close..._a voice whispered from the darkest recesses of his mind.

Terrified, Light jolted back, awakening the detective who immediately shot him a suspicious glare. "What was Light-kun doing?"

Light knew L well enough by now to recognize the ever-present calculation in his voice, and also the undercurrent of fear. L was _afraid_ of him.

Light was afraid of himself. What _had_ he been doing? A voice had cackled in the back of his mind. He'd basked in the pleasure of L's death, and still shivered delightedly at the thought of killing him. Ryuzaki was his _friend_. Why would he ever want to...?

No. It couldn't be what he was thinking. _I'm not..._Light didn't even want to think about the possibility, but he could never stop his mind from working. Tiny events and thoughts he'd had over the past year were clicking steadily into place.

"Light-kun?"

No, Light was the wrong name for him. He had been Light, a long time ago, but now a much more brutal name fit him..._Ki—_

"No!" Light cried, and twisted away from what he knew to be true. He spasmed out of his chair and onto the floor, curling up into a ball. All those murders, every family that had been torn apart or drenched in fear—that can't have been _him_. But how else could he explain that monster that had risen in his chest and the dreams he'd been having, of screaming men and women accompanied by the thick, too-quick thumping of their hearts?

"Light-kun!" L slapped him across the face, drawing Light back into his current situation.

Light clutched at L's shirt, drawing the man closer. "L, you have to arrest me," he whispered harshly, hands trembling, glaring fixatedly into the man's eyes to convince him. "Before I—"

Maybe he could have stopped it. Kira could have died that day. But the Death Note's rules would never be so kind, so merciful. Realization in a shinigami's eyes is akin to remembering the past, and that cannot be allowed to happen. Ryuk, always watching from within the shinigami realm, had seen everything, and he knew what was to come.

The Death Note would not be defied. It had seized hold of Light's deepest thoughts and desires, what a romantic might call his soul, and it was impossible for Light to ever escape its hold. It pulled into Light's thoughts, and extracted all his suspicion of himself. The clarity of his realization disappeared as quickly as it had come, and Light's fevered eyes resumed their earlier, innocent look.

_Nobody is that good an actor,_ L thought, scrutinizing his companion closely. Light mumbled some excuse about a nightmare, but something about his explanation just didn't seem right. _I'm missing something crucial, I know._

But there was nothing he could do to prove that Light's episode had been anything but a nightmare, so L kept his suspicions quiet and returned to his pointless work. The investigation was yielding not a speck of information, and it wouldn't—not until L figured out the jumbled puzzle of Light's complicated mind.

Some inner voice told L that, by then, it would be too late.

He believed it.


End file.
